Read Online The Red Room by Ridley Pearson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ridley Pearson
Ads: Link
more valued, or where the currency conversion is favorable. Sell it; convert. Purchase. Resale. It’s less supply and demand than catching the idiosyncrasies of artistic taste.”
“You take advantage of people.”
He mugs.
“And me? Do you plan to take advantage of me?”
He might think she’s flirting, but her tone is accusatory bordering on angry.
“I beg your pardon.” He has already taken advantage of her. He wishes he could feel remorse over it, but does not.
“Why do you lie to me?”
“Excuse me?”
“Akram would never recommend a drink with me. This is your mistake. So you are testing me, yes? A Westerner, no less. Bravo! An interesting twist, to be sure. But I still know nothing. You are wasting your time.”
To the contrary,
Knox thinks, suddenly interested in how Akram might be testing her.
“You may have me mistaken for—” he says.
“I think not, Mr. Knox, if that is in fact your name.”
“Why meet me if you consider me such a liar?”
“To tell you, as I have told all of you before, to back off. What goes on between a man and a woman, it stays between the man and the woman.”
“Rarely,” Knox says. The word he hears is “before.”
“In this case, then.”
He’s caught between wanting to distance himself from whoever she thinks he is and playing the role in order to work the conflict for “incidental findings,” the unintended information she may yet divulge. Judging by her tone, she and Akram were once an item.
Were
—past tense. Akram or his people have tested her since thecollapse of the relationship. She believes these people have now gone to the trouble of hiring a Westerner to do their bidding. Boxes inside boxes—he’s intrigued.
Their drinks arrive. He adds sugar to the espresso, but it’s unnecessary: the bean makes for a smooth and slippery liquor in his throat.
“You like it,” she says.
“I do, very much.”
“You will please pass my message along.”
“I would if I could. Sadly, you mistake me.”
“I think not.”
“Your prerogative.” He pauses. “You recognized my name when I called. Akram has spoken of me.”
“You people . . . people like you . . . you can know any of that far too easily. Did you listen to us at the end? Did you enjoy it?” She can’t look at him, only the reflection in her teacup.
People like you,
Knox hears the echo in his ears. People who eavesdrop. She’s talking about surveillance. She fears she’s been listened in on. Better with every bite. He says, “You mistake me for someone else. No one is keeping you here.”
Her eyes flash darkly.
They share olives, hummus and falafel. Knox could eat all afternoon, the coffee boring a bottomless pit in his stomach. Shredded onions deep-fried in garbanzo flour. The dishes keep coming. The act of sharing food lowers the wall between them; the connection is primitive but palpable. He orders a beer.
“So it was a bad breakup,” he says.
She shakes her head as if to tell him he knows this already.
“I’ve only met him a couple of times, but I like Akram.” He thinks he may be getting through to her, judging by a softening of her dark eyes. But she doesn’t take the bait.
“Leave me alone, please. You tell them: leave me alone.”
“I don’t know who they are.”
“If this is the truth, then there is no harm done, and I apologize for any inconvenience. But I know you are lying, Mr. Knox, and I wish to make the point that I must be left alone.”
“Point taken.” He capitulates for no other reason than laziness and the meal’s imminent end. He signals for the check, pulling receipts, his hotel key card and his thin wallet from his front pocket. He doesn’t want her to see the name on any of the cards. He removes some bills and stuffs everything back.
“These men. Police? Government? Criminals?”
She eyes him warily. Spitefully. Shakes her head in defeat.
You people won’t stop,
her eyes shout. “Is there so much difference?” she
“You take advantage of people.”
He mugs.
“And me? Do you plan to take advantage of me?”
He might think she’s flirting, but her tone is accusatory bordering on angry.
“I beg your pardon.” He has already taken advantage of her. He wishes he could feel remorse over it, but does not.
“Why do you lie to me?”
“Excuse me?”
“Akram would never recommend a drink with me. This is your mistake. So you are testing me, yes? A Westerner, no less. Bravo! An interesting twist, to be sure. But I still know nothing. You are wasting your time.”
To the contrary,
Knox thinks, suddenly interested in how Akram might be testing her.
“You may have me mistaken for—” he says.
“I think not, Mr. Knox, if that is in fact your name.”
“Why meet me if you consider me such a liar?”
“To tell you, as I have told all of you before, to back off. What goes on between a man and a woman, it stays between the man and the woman.”
“Rarely,” Knox says. The word he hears is “before.”
“In this case, then.”
He’s caught between wanting to distance himself from whoever she thinks he is and playing the role in order to work the conflict for “incidental findings,” the unintended information she may yet divulge. Judging by her tone, she and Akram were once an item.
Were
—past tense. Akram or his people have tested her since thecollapse of the relationship. She believes these people have now gone to the trouble of hiring a Westerner to do their bidding. Boxes inside boxes—he’s intrigued.
Their drinks arrive. He adds sugar to the espresso, but it’s unnecessary: the bean makes for a smooth and slippery liquor in his throat.
“You like it,” she says.
“I do, very much.”
“You will please pass my message along.”
“I would if I could. Sadly, you mistake me.”
“I think not.”
“Your prerogative.” He pauses. “You recognized my name when I called. Akram has spoken of me.”
“You people . . . people like you . . . you can know any of that far too easily. Did you listen to us at the end? Did you enjoy it?” She can’t look at him, only the reflection in her teacup.
People like you,
Knox hears the echo in his ears. People who eavesdrop. She’s talking about surveillance. She fears she’s been listened in on. Better with every bite. He says, “You mistake me for someone else. No one is keeping you here.”
Her eyes flash darkly.
They share olives, hummus and falafel. Knox could eat all afternoon, the coffee boring a bottomless pit in his stomach. Shredded onions deep-fried in garbanzo flour. The dishes keep coming. The act of sharing food lowers the wall between them; the connection is primitive but palpable. He orders a beer.
“So it was a bad breakup,” he says.
She shakes her head as if to tell him he knows this already.
“I’ve only met him a couple of times, but I like Akram.” He thinks he may be getting through to her, judging by a softening of her dark eyes. But she doesn’t take the bait.
“Leave me alone, please. You tell them: leave me alone.”
“I don’t know who they are.”
“If this is the truth, then there is no harm done, and I apologize for any inconvenience. But I know you are lying, Mr. Knox, and I wish to make the point that I must be left alone.”
“Point taken.” He capitulates for no other reason than laziness and the meal’s imminent end. He signals for the check, pulling receipts, his hotel key card and his thin wallet from his front pocket. He doesn’t want her to see the name on any of the cards. He removes some bills and stuffs everything back.
“These men. Police? Government? Criminals?”
She eyes him warily. Spitefully. Shakes her head in defeat.
You people won’t stop,
her eyes shout. “Is there so much difference?” she
Similar Books
